


Implausible Allies

by KaCii



Series: KC's Revenant Saga [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Gen, Guns, Minor Character Death, Sneaking Around, Tension, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaCii/pseuds/KaCii
Summary: "What are you doing here?” He asks.They are silent for a moment. While Bloodhound’s motives may be an enigma to him, his are not to them. They can imagine well what reason he has to be here.They do not wish to see needless blood that night, but cooperation seems the wisest choice. That is, assuming he is willing to accept an offer… of that, they are less sure.
Relationships: Bloodhound & Revenant (Apex Legends)
Series: KC's Revenant Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169177
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. The Enemy of My Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for translations!  
> This is... my first time ever writing fanfiction. But I love Revenant so much. I have LOTS planned and we'll have to see how far I can make it. It's my first time writing him and I'm not totally in love with it, but it'll do for a first try!

The hairs on the back of Bloodhound’s neck stand on end. There _should_ be no other presence on this freight ship beyond its pilot. It is a short journey, one which requires only a single person aboard.  
They know there is, though. They may not have had the Voidwalker’s voices, but years of the hunt served them well. Even the most silent of companions were not invisible. Not even in darkness.

The ship is large, but not enormous. Large enough, at least, that the hunter knows their voice would not travel to the pilot’s ears. 

“Why are you here?” They utter to the darkness, aware of a third presence aboard the vessel. There is no doubt the other knows of their presence, too. They had a wingman on one hip, and their axe on the other. Their hand rests on the latter.

“I could ask the same of you.” A robotic voice replies. Two orange, glowing spots appear in the darkness, 15 feet away, somewhere above the height of a crate. The noise comes from in front of them, followed by the metallic clinking of his movement. He is capable of being silent, when he wishes it. The hunter watches as his eyes move, indicating his position. His feet are on the ground now. “Do you really need to ask? Maybe you’re not as smart as I pegged you for, skinsuit.”

“I have business with my home planet, _velafolk_.” Though he is the first Bloodhound has encountered in some regards, he is not in his attempts to rile them up. He stalks towards them in a wide circle, reminding the hunter of a prowler, stalking its prey. Bloodhound does not allow themself to feel threatened. They have no reason to suspect an attack from him, despite who he is.

“Obviously. But… what? You couldn’t find an easier way back than sneaking on board a Hammond transport ship?” He almost seems to be teasing, still. 

“Is it of importance to you?” They ask back, unwilling to be the only one offering answers.

“Didn’t peg you for being much of a rulebreaker either. What are you doing here?” 

They are silent for a moment. While Bloodhound’s motives may be an enigma to him, his are not to them. They can imagine well what reason he has to be here. 

They do not wish to see needless blood that night, but cooperation seems the wisest choice. That is, assuming he is willing to accept an offer… of that, they are less sure.

“I intend to take what should belong to the people from Hammond. I have made a deal to redistribute it among communities in need on Solace.”

“How _interesting_. Rule-breaking for the good of the people, is it?” He lets out a mockery of a laugh, grating.

“What is it you intend to do?”

“Straight to the point, is it? You’re no fun. If you _must_ know, I’m here to kill some Hammond grunts. Have a good time, let loose. Maybe set off an explosion inside. Hah.” Bloodhound hears a sound, what they suspect to be him rolling a shoulder. They can’t imagine he needs to stretch, and they ponder the action for a moment. He is much closer now, only about 7 feet away. He stops.

“How do you intend to return on time for the games?” An explosion will no doubt set off the scheduling of the ship’s departure. Bad for them, if they cannot work out a better solution with him. Unfortunately, they highly doubt he cares to change his plans for their convenience.

“Was planning on going out in a blaze of glory. What’s it to you?”

“ _Hvatvís._ You cannot guarantee you will wake up on Solace.” Can he?

“So I’ll keep disposing of these damn bodies until I find one in the right place. _What’s it to you_?” He repeats, voice grating. Bloodhound cannot give off the impression that he has the upper hand. Not in any way.

“Have you an explosive?” They’re no engineer or scientist, but they have some experience with technology. This isn’t their first Hammond hijack mission, either.

“Yes.” He does not say anything else, and for a second Bloodhound is surprised. He sounds almost curious.

“Allow me to plant it. I will not let it go off until we are leaving on this very ship. You may do what you wish in the meantime, so long as it does not interfere with the schedule. The alarm must not go off.” He covers the distance between them so quickly and they have no time to step aside before his hand is on their throat, threatening to squeeze or lift them into the air. Bloodhound is almost too late to pull their axe. They are able to position it near his midriff—the part of him with a fabric-like cover over it, rather than metal, but they stop when he does. They are not sure how much damage they would be able to do—they are no weakling, but a near 7 foot tall robot is a challenge for anyone. 

They keep their breathing steady. His crystalline eyes bore into the hunter, and theirs into him, although neither could glean any real information from the other.

“Don’t get so comfortable giving me directions, skinbag. What makes you think I care to do any of that? I could set it off myself and leave you burning inside. Hell, I could snap your neck like a twig right now. Either way, no one would ever know where you went.”

 _Think._ How to negotiate with someone who has no care? More importantly, how to negotiate with one who has his hand around your neck? What can Bloodhound offer to him?

If he is being honest, Bloodhound has every reason to fear this mission may go sour with his presence. They almost wonder if they have a better chance fighting him off and sending him to a new body than risking him blowing them up. There has to be something he wants. They run through a list. Revenge. Relief. Death, of both others and himself. Revenge is the one they linger on. Surely, of all targets this warehouse is not high on the list. Beyond the cargo it stores, it cannot serve him much purpose. Except… information, maybe. But it only works if it’s information he can’t access. Is there anything they know he might find useful? 

Bloodhound is not sure what sort of information he is able to access in the Hammond databases. If he does this as often as they would assume he does, surely they have placed safeguards. They can only hope their assumptions are correct.

“ _Að stökkva upp á nef sér_. This warehouse is not worth your time. There is none of importance here. I will access their computer and bring you information of notable targets.”

The hunter could not read his face. He wore a mask, like their own. They did not find him so unreadable as others may have, but they could not be sure how he might react. 

“You’re pushing it, _hunter_. But I’ll humour you.” Bloodhound feels his hand release from their neck, drop to his side. They let their axe lower, but he pays it no attention anyway. He still towers over them. “Just don’t get in my way, unless you want to become the hunted instead.”

They hear movement. It is not one of subtle threat, like before. The sound of metal, then the sound of fabric. They can see when he holds out a small object to them. A drive. 

“You better make this good.” His voice drops. The message is clear. _Don’t fuck this up, or else._ In a way, he was asking them to prove themself.

Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hvatvís - impulsive  
> Velafolk - machine person  
> Að stökkva upp á nef sér - Jumping onto one’s own nose. Being irritable and quick to anger. Idiom.


	2. Is Not My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gimme a show, hunter, and I promise I won’t kill you before the next game.” His voice drops halfway, and Bloodhound cannot decide if he is telling the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this particular fic. But don't worry, there will be more Revenant (and Revenant/Bloodhound) interactions in the future! I hope you enjoy.  
> As for the title.......... well, 'yet', at least. ;)

The ship had gone silent a while ago. The longest part of the journey is not the travel itself, but rather the processing and paperwork. This is perfect, as it gave the two time to sneak off while the pilot and entry-processing workers are busy.   
The duo discussed a few more details before splitting. Don’t let the alarms go off, firstly. Revenant idly suggested he might give Security a visit. Bloodhound did not care to hear what he intended to do there. They may have been partners for now, but their business is their own.

The last Bloodhound sees of him is the red plating of his body vanishing into a smokey shadow and turning a corner. There is not one person who does not wonder where his fascinating power comes from, but, predictably, he does not share such information.

They have to be quick. Though at least they now have the explosive under their control, the confrontation on the ship has the unfortunate side effect of giving them a great deal of tasks to complete. And it all has to be done before the ship is packed and ready to depart. If things had gone their way, they would not have had to leave the ship at all.

 _Which first?_ The storage itself is farther down, they knew. That, too, is where they would plant the explosive.

From the information they gathered before departing on this mission, nearly all of the currently stored branthium was to be shipped out. They do not wish to waste something so important, and they could not risk the explosive going off early. Information first, then.

Bloodhound, like the simulacrum, could be silent when they wish. This is almost always, and they do not change their ways now. They creep down the dark halls, heat sensors enabled. In the distance ahead of them, there is a figure. Some sort of guard. 

Hallways are unpleasant places to fight, in their humble opinion. Here, getting seen means they’ll be sprayed down with little cover to protect them. But he seems distracted—no doubt a side effect of late-night duty, on a planet so sparsely populated to begin with. The question is only: to approach, or to attack from there?

They look down at their axe and pistol. It would be easy to shoot him, but they had only brought it as a precaution—they do not wish to get into a full-on firefight. The noise will no doubt draw others and set off alarms.   
Luckily, there are alternatives. They draw their axe, hold it up behind their head, mime the motion of throwing a few times—and let go. The weapon whips by their ear, flying true at their target, and they watch as he falls to the ground in an instant. Most armor is not intended to protect against such a thing. 

They resist the instinct they’ve learned from the Games—no need to say _‘target down’_ , here.

Bloodhound crosses the distance between them, pulling their axe from his back. They step over the body and head up the stairs.

It takes them a while to figure the system out. It’s not one they’ve seen before—some sort of custom interface, and they’re no Crypto. They move quick, going in and out of menus and folders, thinking of keywords which might come up with relevant results. This is why they didn’t wish to risk planting the bomb before they were ready. 

There was only one person in this control room and had been easily taken out before he could do anything. Now, their eyes scan the information on the screen, selecting anything they think could be of remote interest to the other. They copy it over to their drive, waiting a moment before unplugging it.

Done. Still lots of time left. They can only hope Revenant isn’t doing anything to compromise all of it.

Their next stop is one of the lower levels of the building—a room filled with generators, buzzing machinery. They choose a central location, and set to work preparing the explosive.

They stop suddenly, cursing themself in their head. Someone is here. With slow movements, their hand goes to their hip. Then in one quick motion, they raise their pistol and point it at the intruding presence. 

Bloodhound cannot decide whether to be grateful when they see it is their hunting partner. “It does not reflect well upon one to _stunda_ their ally.” 

“Wanted to see how long it would take you to notice.” He steps toward them, neglecting to silence himself nearly as much now. “No eyes on the cameras, now. No eyes in a lot of other places, either.”

Bloodhound wonders how long it _had_ been before they noticed. They’re inclined to say not long, but they do not know the extent of his shadow abilities outside the Games. Nonetheless, they put away their pistol, go back to wiring things up. They do their best to resist the instinct to keep their eyes on him at all times.

“I do not require your assistance here, _félagi_.”

“Only here to make sure you can wire it up right. If this place isn’t up in flames by the time we reach Solace, I’ll gut _you_ instead.”

“It is important to you this place does not stand. I do not believe your bloodlust will be satiated by mine alone.” They nod to his hand hanging by his side, the marking on its back—they know he knows what symbol they refer to.

“Don’t get comfortable negotiating with me, skinbag. If I want you to die, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“How quick you are to forget our battles.” Bloodhound won’t let him forget that they are no weakling, however low his opinion may be of humans. They’ve bested him more than once in the Games. Still, they worry they are pushing it too far. His joints make a creaking noise and their hands stop what they’re doing at the wiring, their shoulder ensuring they are ready to grab their pistol again if necessary. 

Before anything happens, they hear it. A faint footstep, some distance away. Approaching. Someone coming to check who’s talking down here at this time of night. He’s turning his back to them, walking in the presence’s direction carelessly, metal feet clinking against the floor. They want to tell him to quiet it, not risk the person warning anyone before he takes their life, but he’s too far for them to say it now.

In the shadows Bloodhound can see as his shoulder moves, can take a solid guess of what’s happening as they hear a strained grunt. He barely stops walking as he turns and heads back towards the hunter. Arms and legs flail in front of his form and the man is dropped at their feet. They see puncture marks in his throat, his eyes wild with fear as he makes a choking sound. They look at the robotic being standing above them.

“Gimme a show, hunter, and I _promise_ I won’t kill you before the next game.” His voice drops halfway, and Bloodhound cannot decide if he is telling the truth. 

Still, the one by their feet suffers. They pull their axe and bend down, swiftly embed the blade in his skull. There’s a solid _thwock_ , and they recall the first time they had made that very motion. _Like chopping wood._

“Mm… you’re an awful performer.” He scoffs, watches as they pull their blade away. Bloodhound watches as he raises his foot off the ground and stomps it into the man’s head. There is a crunch and several softer sounds. They have heard and seen worse in the ring, but it is not pleasant. “But you’ll be spared.”

“ _Hversu gjafmildur af þér_.” They mutter. Unlike him, they derive no pleasure from drawing out the kill. “Let me finish and we will leave.”

For once, he is silent. Bloodhound ignores the brains and blood spilled on the floor and returns to their work. They are aware of his presence the whole time. Each of them, perfectly still, save for the hunter’s gloved hands doing the work. They assume it is satisfactory enough, as he does not complain.

They set the timer. “Now we may depart.” They step over the corpse and head for the exit, knowing he will follow. While they do not like having him at their back, they will not give him any reason to suspect they fear him.

They sneak back on the ship, hidden among crates no longer empty. Bloodhound’s true task does not really begin until the ship lands back on Solace, and they can only hope the simulacrum will depart shortly once they have.

The two sit, the only sound the rumbling of the ship around them.

“The information. That was part of the deal, too.” The hunter reaches into their coat, pulls out a small drive, holds it out flat in their gloved palm for him. Despite the layer of fabric, they must resist flinching when his claw-like appendages take it. 

They watch as a little door on his arm opens. He inserts the drive, and for several moments he is still and quiet. Bloodhound can only imagine he’s going over the information. The hunter has integrated technology deeply into the way they function, consider it an extension of themself. It is still impossible to imagine what it might be like to _be_ technology.

“Good enough.” His voice rumbles. They do not answer, letting the silence hang in the air. 

“They have found ways to lock you out of their systems.” They finally say, stating their assumption as fact, hoping they are not in the midst of prodding a beast with a stick. 

He makes a sound that Bloodhound determines must be a groan or grunt of some sort, they assume in confirmation. “Their computers have an annoying tendency to wipe themselves when I connect.”

 _That’s… surprisingly extreme_ , Bloodhound thinks. Perhaps Hammond does fear him. The fact that he is allowed to participate in the games raises questions. They wish to know more about his plans, what he intends to do. Any of them would be unwelcome questions. Bloodhound can sympathize. So they are silent. Neither of the two are bothered, when the other does not respond. A small similarity.

The explosion should be any moment now. The ship is already in the air, and they know their survival may depend on it going off without a hitch. They are not concerned. 

When it comes it is muffled by the distance, by the steel walls of the ship. A dull thud, crashing, thumping. Bloodhound moves to look at him, head tilted. Briefly, the color in his eyes flicker—they are reminded of when they see him kill, as the life fades from his victim and his crystalline pupils shrink. It gives the impression that he is… relaxed. They are not sure he is capable of such a feeling. 

Still, they are inclined to say he is satisfied. 

“Would’ve rather been there to see it.” He mutters, as much as a robot’s voice modulator can. A joke, almost. Maybe even approval disguised as one. 

“Our deal is _lokið_.” They reply, and it seems he takes it as a cue to silence himself.

No words are spoken between them before the ship lands, nor are they when Revenant sneaks off into the darkness. Bloodhound does not doubt he found a way out without issue. They listen to the movement outside—preparations to open the cargo ship’s hold. They stand, draw their pistol, and watch as it begins to open. Now the real work begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stunda - pursue  
> Hversu gjafmildur af þér - How generous of you  
> Lokið - complete, finished


End file.
